


The Entanglement

by Hezaia



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezaia/pseuds/Hezaia
Summary: “Honestly though, Boy, I don’t get it,” the villain said at last. “Working under those conditions, why would anyone want to be a hero?"-Basically a no-hit-list!Intervention AU. Intended as a one-shot, but might not remain as such.
Relationships: Allen Walker & Everyone, Lavi & Allen Walker, Timothy Hearst & Allen Walker, Tyki Mikk & Allen Walker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	The Entanglement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ennael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennael/gifts).



> Basically a no-hit-list!Intervention AU. Intended as a one-shot, but might not remain as such.
> 
> Dedicated to Ennael, who very much encouraged this stupidity. Happy birthday!
> 
> (And thanks for the illustration!)

* * *

There were points in life when one’s sanity ought to be feared for; questioned even.

Allen Walker ‒ aged sixteen ‒ had already encountered a fair number of such points.

However, when he – groggy as all Hell, nursing a massive headache and carrying his golem Timcanpy on top of his head – entered the kitchen only to find an intruder peering into his fridge, it felt as though things might just have reached some sort of breaking point.

“Whoa,” said intruder muttered. “There’s nothing but ketchup, energy drinks and peanut butter in here…”

And it seemed as though the aforementioned intruder had yet to notice him. Huh.

Allen briefly contemplated launching a sneak attack but swiftly decided against it. Another time perhaps. Instead, he spoke up: “You better not be thinking about raiding my fridge, because if you are, then there’ll be blood.”

The intruder stilled and turned his head to stare owlishly in Allen’s direction. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

The man ought to ask himself that question a whole lot more often. Like before he broke into Allen’s apartment and all. “What are you doing here then?”

The man shrugged. “Nothing much. Just haven’t seen you around much lately, so…”

So… the villain – who evidently had far too much time on his hands – just randomly decided to perform some sort of welfare check on Allen, the hero _Crown(ed) Clown_ , otherwise known as C2.

Allen sighed, massaging his aching temples. How had it all come to this?

* * *

In retrospect, it had been a slippery slope. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when and where things had begun to diverge from the Plan, but that day, roughly six months prior, had definitely played a significant part.

Because, that day, Allen had found himself staring into a shop window, growing increasingly frustrated and infuriated.

First of all, the merch was blatantly overpriced, to the extent that a few of them would have been enough to cover Allen’s rent for an entire month.

Second of all, there was the fact that while definitely pricey, the C2 merch was still significantly cheaper than that of a certain bastard.

“Are you fucking serious?” Allen muttered to himself. “Seven hundred? Are you fucking with me?”

He narrowed his eyes, looked at the merch in the shop window and made a few estimates about what was likely hidden behind the storefront. Then, after adding it all up, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the spectacle, because the longer he looked, the greater the temptation to rob the place.

Besides, it was really high time to get going, because the shift of his part-time job started in less than half an hour.

To become a hero; it had been Allen’s long-time dream. Unfortunately, dreams seldom survived the impact with reality.

Besides, becoming a hero was an entirely different matter to remaining one. Sure, there was fighting the occasional superpowered villain and eliminating the monsters known as Akuma, as well as saving civilians caught up in skirmishes. But there was also another struggle, and Allen was probably more affected by it than most.

The issue was mainly financial; not purely, but mainly.

When Allen had first come to the city, he had had fairly limited instructions; basically, _go there and be of use for once_. His mentor, the hero _Judgement_ , had allegedly intended to send a letter of recommendation of some sort, but Allen still had no idea whether the thing had actually been sent of not. Maybe it had been sent but gotten lost somewhere the paperwork avalanche of Hero Agency’s Branch Chief Komui Lee? Perhaps it had even become collateral in one or several incidents featuring science experiments gone wrong, or in some cases even rogue?

In any case, the results had largely been the same; Allen had been caught doing hero work without a licence, and thus, he had been put on probation, which was the hero equivalent of an unpaid internship.

And as you know, unpaid internships are unpaid, which had given Allen another issue to deal with. Stuff like rent, groceries and clothes required money after all, which had forced Allen to consider which was more important; his dignity or his life.

And as far as that was concerned, well−

* * *

“Welcome to _Sloppy Burgers_ , may I take your orders please?”

Allen was wearing his uniform and his usual customer service smile – bright and seemingly warm to the untrained eye yet empty and disturbingly familiar to anyone who had ever worked in customer service.

The customers were a small group of girls – probably in their mid to late teens – and they were giggling amongst themselves, showing one another things on their smartphones. It was almost as though they had not yet noticed that they were in fact the first in line now. Oh well−

“Next customer, please!”

* * *

Allen only really worked at that burger joint every now and then. One of the managers typically called him up whenever somebody else couldn’t make it, which was usually once or twice every other week. To be frank, Allen didn’t really like the job all that much; he had started out doing dishes and cleaning – which could be pretty damned awful in and by itself – before the aforementioned manager had found out just how efficient Allen was at the register.

To reiterate: Allen did not like working at a fast-food restaurant. He hated the low pay, he hated dealing with customers and he hated the fact that he kept coming back again and again despite promising himself each time that this time would be the last.

But you know, _fries_ , as well as some chicken nuggets and soda and all that, made a pretty convincing argument.

The thing about fast food was that it was generally cheaper than the healthier alternatives – maybe not in terms of money, but certainly when one considered not just the monetary part but also the time and skills and equipment needed in order to prepare meals from scratch. As such, Allen occasionally ended up eating a lot of it – fast food, that is. But due to his high metabolism and regular exercise, it wasn’t really that much of an issue – not as long as he ate things besides that. Allen truthfully didn’t care too much for the taste of stuff like peanut butter, but he ate it anyway, because it was an easily attainable source of not just calories but of protein, vitamins, and minerals.

In any case, Allen kept coming back for the fast food, which was way more than could be said about his other part-time jobs, because he had about a handful on rotation since said jobs were reasonably compatible with other aspects of his life; patrolling, eating, sleeping, and occasionally going to school.

Because yeah, going to school? Allen had not really considered that in his initial plan. Courtesy of certain life circumstances, he had never really received what could be considered typical education. As such, he had faced certain challenges that went far beyond balancing a civilian life with moonlighting as a hero, and with the latter being unpaid those first couple of months, Allen had had his priorities set.

As a result, his attendance record was spotty at best, but hardly of any greater concern to him. Sure, Branch Chief Komui _had_ at some point threatened to bar Allen from working if his grades or attendance slipped too much, but the man hadn’t actually done anything yet, and besides, it was only a matter of months before Allen reached that magical age when he would be allowed to drop out and start working legally anyway.

Daydreaming about this much too distant but nevertheless shining future, Allen changed back into his normal streetwear, pulled his hood up and headed for his next job.

It was not that far and he had time, so he walked, even though it was already dark out. The darkness didn’t really scare him though. In fact, it was usually the things lurking in the dark alleyways that steered clear of him.

Unfortunately, tonight, it seemed as though he would not make it, because as soon as he got close, he received a call. Not taking it was not really an option. “Roger that.”

Ending the call, Allen swiftly ducked behind cover and made another call, this one to the boss on his next shift. “Hello?” he began, making sure to make himself sound just right. “Yeah, it’s me, Allen. I’m sorry, but I can’t come in today. Yeah, some kind of stomach bug, I’m not sure… Yeah, yeah… again, I am so, so sorry about calling in so late, but I’ve been stuck in the bathroom since− yeah… yeah, I know… yeah… okay… I’ll text you later, okay? Thanks. Bye.”

With a sigh, he ended the call. Allen truthfully wasn’t too eager to go back on his promises and all, but emergency deployment meant double pay, so−

With a flash of light, C2 took to the rooftops.

* * *

A few hours later found C2 patrolling the streets of the Third District. Although in his case, it was more of a stroll than a patrol, since he could sense no Akuma in the immediate vicinity, lacked both energy and incentive to pursue the rest.

And to top it all off, it was raining heavily – absolutely pouring – and Allen didn’t have enough money for the bus fare – which sucked, to be perfectly honest, because that meant getting drenched.

It was only sensible to seek shelter. Less sensible was his choice to loiter outside a particular bar that just so happened to be something of a hotspot for the local mobsters.

“Oh, Little Red! What are you standing out there for? Get your ass in here. We’ve already started without you.”

Allen wrinkled his nose, because unlike that other time, he was not wearing a red hoodie but a blue one. Still, the name just seemed to have stuck, hadn’t it? Now if only they’d drop the ‘Little’ part…

But he still went inside, following the guy – Boris – to the usual table. It had one more occupant than usual; a new and unfamiliar face.

“Hoh… who’s this?” the guy asked.

Allen would have asked the same, but he was temporarily distracted. The scruffy-looking stranger had his phone out, and a certain something was dangling from it.

Boris quickly did the introductions. “Little Red, meet Mikk. Mikk, meet Little Red. He might not look like it, but he’s quite tough.”

Mikk peered at Allen through a pair of thick, round, and rather ugly glasses. “Hoh? Doesn’t look like much.”

Allen was clearly being underestimated, but he could deal with that. The others had underestimated him too, back when he had first shown up, and he had left that night with most of their pocket money, and a few other valuables as well.

Never mind the fact that they were all mobsters – or heavily involved with them at the very least; Allen had trounced these people before and he would keep doing it until they put out an active hit on him.

And once they did, Allen would have an excuse to go after them in turn. Because – as members of the non-supernatural criminal elements – they fell outside the Hero Agency’s jurisdiction, as per the Agency’s agreement with the police. As one Inspector Galmar had allegedly put it: Leave the freaks to the freaks and the real criminals to the police.

Simply put, this meant that heroes needed authorisation from the police in order to engage when the situation did not involve Akuma. In practice however, there were two exceptions, and legitimate self-defence was one of them.

That said however, bullets were still bullets, and Allen would rather not get shot if he could avoid it. Granted, this was by no means the first time he had had dealings with the mob, but his dealings with these constellations were still relatively fresh, and he was still figuring out the boundaries and whatnot.

Of course, none of this prevented him from conning the lot out of cash and other valuables. Because of food expenses and all that.

* * *

“Hoh… You’re pretty good at this, Little Red.”

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” Allen muttered, rearranging his cards before presenting them. _“Royal Straight Flush.”_

There was a collective hiss at that.

“Ouch,” the newcomer said. “Another round.”

This guy was pretty stubborn, wasn’t he?

“Do you have anything to wager though?” Allen said. “Just letting you know beforehand that I won’t accept your underwear or your dignity. Because they’re not worth anything. Also, public nudity is technically a crime, so…”

“You’re really something though, aren’t you?” the man shot back. “How about this then?”

The man – Mikk – was dangling something; he had detached his phone strap, giving Allen an excellent view of that incredibly recognisable – and frankly infuriating – item. “It’s a limited edition. Cost me more than fifty.”

Really. “Overpriced and shoddy. It’s not even accurate.”

“Hoh?” Mikk said, sounding interested now. “Hardcore fan?”

Not quite, but− “Close enough.”

* * *

_Leave the freaks to the freaks and the real criminals to the police._

In theory, it seemed like a pretty solid arrangement, but that in itself did not mean that it lacked flaws. It had plenty of flaws, as a matter of fact.

One of said flaws was that the police force – the previously named Inspector Galmar in particular – were usually rather unwilling when it came to allowing hero interference, since it allegedly hampered their investigations and whatnot. And it probably did, to a certain degree, but fact remained that a fair number of those cases should not have been handled by them in the first place.

The case with Phantom Thief G was among them.

In this particular case though, it was a very fortunate thing indeed. Because if the police had handed over the case right away, then G’s career as a super-powered body-snatching phantom thief would likely have been cut short before it had even taken off. Of course, on the flip side of things, the situation of Allen hurriedly tracking him down before the criminal underworld had started gunning for him could also have been avoided, had the police force followed its own damned policy.

In any case, the point was moot. G – otherwise known as Timothy Hearst – might have had the power to hijack people’s bodies at his disposal, but he was a young, inexperienced, and frankly reckless little brat that had been literal days – possibly just hours – away from getting himself or one of his unfortunate victims killed.

And so, Allen had tracked him down and attempted – _keyword: attempted_ – to talk some sense into him. It remained to be seen whether or not it would ultimately make much of a difference, but at least this way, Allen could feel like he had still done something.

And no, Allen had not ordered him to stop; he had simply told him to choose his targets with greater care – and to stay the Hell out of the Third District, because that area was included in Allen’s regular patrol route and also a hotbed for other activities.

Unfortunately, young Timothy seemed to have interpreted Allen’s words a lot more liberally than Allen would have liked.

Thus, the following situation had occurred:

Allen – as C2 – was on a rooftop, hiding in the shadow of a massive air-conditioning unit, itching to pinch the bridge of his nose. However, due to his domino being in the way, he was forced to settle for an exasperated breath.

“You stole the crown jewels,” he deadpanned.

The brat – or rather, the unfortunate civilian that served as the brat’s temporary vessel – looked entirely too proud of himself. Was he expecting to get praised? Seriously?

“You stole. The crown jewels.” The crown jewels. The Crown Jewels!

“Uh… I guess?”

Oh, for the love of− _“Are you **insane**?”_ Allen hissed.

 _“But!”_ the phantom thief argued. “They looked so pretty and expensive and− I couldn’t help it!”

Not that Allen couldn’t relate or anything, but− “Put them back.”

Now that prompted a reaction. _“Huh?!”_ G said – more like shouted – and Allen covered his mouth. Because, you know, attention was something he would rather not attract right at this moment, seeing as to how he was having a secret rendezvous with a wanted criminal and all.

 _“Why would I put them back?!”_ G hissed. _“They weren’t that easy to steal!”_

Oh, for crying out loud. _“They wouldn’t be that easy to sell either, even on the black market,”_ Allen hissed right back. _“Now, which part of ‘Lie low’ eludes you?”_

 _“But I need the money!”_ the brat argued.

And Allen could relate to that and all, but− _“Who doesn’t need money? That doesn’t mean **I** go around stealing people’s bodies to make it off with some country’s crown jewels!” _

Then again, if he had actually _had_ the aforementioned skill−

Allen mentally slapped himself. Because turning to a life of crime was starting to sound waaaay more appealing than it should have.

 _“…Fine, it was stupid,”_ the thief finally admitted. _“But we really need the money! It’s a matter of life and death!”_

Oh, for the love of− “How much?”

_“Huh?”_

Behind the mask, Allen rolled his eyes, steeling himself. “How much do you need?” he asked. He could deal with rent later. This took priority.

“Wait… you’re gonna help me? But you’re a−?”

A hero, yes. A cop, no.

“I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

In hindsight, maybe not his brightest idea, but all in all, it could have ended up much, much worse.

_“C2, C2, any comments on what you’re going to spend the reward money for successfully bringing back the stolen jewels?”_

Still, Allen was reluctantly impressed; someone actually managed to say all that using just a single breath.

Also, while Allen – whether as C2 or otherwise – held no particular fondness for the media, and particularly not the tabloids, he found that the journalists and photographers occasionally proved very useful. Like now for example.

The limelight was by no means Allen’s favourite place to be, whether in costume or otherwise. But for the monetary reward, Allen was willing to tolerate it. For a few more minutes at least, slimy handshakes and persistent camera flashes and all.

Determined to finish this quickly, Allen grabbed one of the countless microphones thrust into his face and calmly handed it off to the mayor.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said. “C2 here−” He offered up a slight wave and a smile at that. “–has asked us to use the money to make improvements to orphanages and other care facilities in the area. I for one believe it’s a splendid idea.”

Of course, she did; election season was fast approaching after all.

But never mind all of that.

As long as she – and others – did as they were told and didn’t attempt to vanish any significant amount of that sum into the pockets of middlemen or their supporters, Allen would not interfere. But he would definitely be checking where that money went, and if it went anywhere Allen didn’t like, then he would obviously make sure that news of it went viral.

But anyways−

C2 gave a slight salute and then made his retreat.

* * *

Obviously that little publicity stunt had had certain consequences – good and bad.

Some accused him of interfering with police matters (true) and of using his lucky break as a publicity stunt to climb in the rankings (technically not true) and criticised him for not turning over the stolen goods to the police (fairly valid).

In turn, Allen – as C2 – had released a statement with the help of one of his fellow heroes, the social-media-savvy _Iron Hammer_ , wherein the latter – trying and mostly failing to mask his amusement – had posed as the journalist in a mock interview using some of the posts on social media, while Allen did his part in reacting to them.

It had been intended as a onetime thing, really. But for some reason, certain bits and pieces of it had become quite… meme-able. One was a clip of him responding to a particularly nasty comment with a deadpan _“Is it such a bad thing to feed the orphans?”_ , which had been edited and reedited countless times to feature different scenarios.

Iron Hammer – enjoying this way too much – had then picked out his favourites and shown them to him in order to make a ‘C2 reacts to’-series. But things had obviously spiralled out of control from there, and eventually, even the usually lenient Branch Chief Komui had been forced to put his foot down.

But Allen privately thought the man was more than justified in that, because Iron Hammer had definitely gone too far in livestreaming one of his patrols.

In any case, there were things to be learned from this event – and in certain cases also reinforced. For one thing, all publicity was not good publicity, and even good publicity could be a very bad thing in the longer term.

C2’s popularity had skyrocketed, which had meant more merch, more fans and more shit to deal with in general – and this subsequently had left less time for him to do other things.

At times, Allen would even struggle to fill his basic quota of Akuma, seeing as to how people were starting to actively endanger themselves, either on purpose or by accident, trying to snap better pics or capture better videos. Because they obviously had no sense – of self-preservation or otherwise.

And Allen was starting to become a bit sick of it all, to be perfectly honest. More than a bit sick, as a matter of fact.

_“Achoo!”_

His sneeze scared off a bunch of pigeons that had been roosting nearby, echoing in-between the nearby walls. Even Timcanpy took flight, startled by the sudden noise.

“Ugh, I fucking hate this,” Allen muttered, watching his breath form a white cloud. Because it was cold tonight, and for once, even Allen could tell. He usually couldn’t, because his normal body temperature typically ran a bit higher than that of most other people. “Fucking germs…”

The only good thing about the cold was that it was keeping him relatively alert. If he had been somewhere warm, then he would likely have dozed off at this point.

Really though, what was up with tonight? It had been unusually quiet on all fronts; Allen had so far only managed to fill about two thirds of his quota, and he obviously wasn’t planning on going home before he had filled the rest.

Moreover, it seemed to be a pretty quiet night for the police as well. To alleviate his own boredom, Allen had tuned into their radio frequencies and brought a pair of binoculars along. Because on nights like this one, Plan B was usually keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

There were people out, yes, but they were not that many; not all that surprising, considering the time of day and the ongoing snowfall. There was not a whole lot of interesting things to look at though; not from Allen’s current position at least.

He sneezed again – quietly this time – and lifted the mask just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ah, his sinuses were killing him. He would have to drop by a 24-hour drugstore later on for some nasal spray, because the one he had at home had been depleted all too quickly.

In any case, this was probably just a cold. However, congestion alone could be bad enough when wearing a mask, especially a metal-plated domino like Allen’s. It made blowing one’s nose needlessly complicated.

But at least Allen wasn’t coughing up his own lungs – not anymore, that is. That cough suppressant he had taken earlier was proving surprisingly effective; Allen had to think of a way to get a steady supply of it, and probably some other suppressants as well. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite go to the Agency and ask for more of it in his current state. If he did that, then he’d probably be carted off to the Medical Wing, and then the Head Nurse would never let him out again, and then he would end up falling behind on rent again.

All things considered, maybe Allen should have done the sensible thing and called in sick. Of course, it was not too late to call it a night either so−

Allen reached up towards his earring communicator, about to call in and make his report. But something made him pause, right before he would have turned it on. Lowering his hand, he closed his eyes and focused on the distant sound that was undeniably getting closer. Fire? No, that was−

The police scanner came alive with a flurry of static and voices, rattling off codes and requests for assistance.

Allen frowned, his head aching far too much to quickly decode all of that. Instead he picked up the binoculars again, looking for flashing lights in the distance.

And he was quick to spot them, and they seemed to be headed right for−

Allen lowered the binoculars and shook his head to dispel the thought – regretting it almost instantly, because _ouch_ – and raised the binoculars once more. They couldn’t be after him, could they? Had some sharp-eyed citizen noticed him there on the rooftop and called it in?

Nah, it wasn’t a 10-107, but a 10-90, which meant either alarm going off or a bank–

The first police car swerved around the corner, coming to a stop right outside a bank. Said bank was located about a stone’s throw from the high-rise hotel Allen had chosen as his temporary perch. Weird.

Could it be a bank robbery? Then again, considering the time of day and lack of people, this would probably be more of a bank burglary or a break-in though, wouldn’t it? Also, how long had this thing been going on, with Allen being none the wiser? Just how bad had congestion fucked up his hearing?

In any case, with no formal request for assistance and no signs of a hostage situation, it was not as though Allen was allowed to interfere, was it? Inspector Galmar and his lot had made that abundantly clear last time, when Allen had just so happened to be at the right place at the right time to swoop in, no?

Still, no one said that he couldn’t watch, no?

Then again, there would likely be helicopters swooping in soon – police or mass media – and Allen found that he would rather not answer any questions about his presence and actions – or perhaps lack thereof – at the scene, especially not in his current state.

Mind made up, Allen gathered his stuff and stood up, motioning for Timcanpy to follow as he began stepping towards the other side of the roof.

It took him a few more steps than he cared to admit to notice that Timcanpy wasn’t following and in fact hissing. The golem usually did that when there was something it didn’t disapprove of, so Allen turned, getting ready to justify himself and his actions.

Then he noticed; there was a person standing on the edge of the next building over. It was a male figure, tall and− they just casually stepped out into thin air and− Did. Not. Fall.

The guy was taking a stroll on top of the air itself – casually, like he had all the time in the world – and he was walking towards him.

The guy was not a hero; Allen was familiar enough with the circuit to tell. This left either villain or vigilante, and considering the proximity to the apparent crime scene−

Allen called Timcanpy back, and the golem reluctantly obeyed, letting out one last hiss in the stranger’s general direction before flying to perch on top of Allen’s upturned hood. Allen did not look at him though; his eyes were entirely focused on the stranger, who had now stepped down onto the hotel’s roof, taking another drag on the cigarette in his mouth.

“So…” the guy said, exhaling smoke. “Are you on strike or something?”

Allen narrowed his eyes behind the mask. Because, what kind of question was that? Also− “Not really.”

The guy seemed genuinely confused at that. “Why are you out here then?” he asked.

Well, that was none of his damned business and all, but− “Good question. There was nothing good on TV, so I figured I might as well try stargazing.”

The guy looked briefly up into the skies and then back down. “Are you feeling alright?”

The guy actually sounded concerned, and Allen burst into laughter; not his brightest idea, since he quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Well, if he wasn’t feeling shitty before, then he sure as Hell wasn’t feeling any better now. Besides, he didn’t even have a TV, and he knew as well as anyone that you couldn’t actually see the stars here due to the light pollution and−

With no slight amount of effort, he straightened, giving the mildly fretful Timcanpy a reassuring pet while he was at it. “Not really,” he finally admitted, because who even cared at this point? “Thanks for asking though. I appreciate it.”

He wasn’t actually sure that he did, but this was a as good an opportunity to leave as any. With any luck, the guy wouldn’t try to−

“Wait, can I ask you something?”

Ugh, seriously? _“What?”_

“Can I get your autograph?”

Huh?

Allen blinked, pretty sure he had just imagined that last bit, but before he managed to open his mouth to ask, a police helicopter flew overhead, its searchlights passing briefly over the rooftop, illuminating Allen and− no one?

The helicopter made a turn and then began to hover, showering the rooftop in bright light, confirming that yes, Allen had indeed been noticed and yes, he was indeed alone now. The other guy was nowhere to be seen; he had likely made a break for it moments before the helicopter had turned up. This was probably for the best however, because it spared Allen the trouble of having to explain what had just happened. That is, if it had even happened to begin with. Maybe it was just some weird dream, a side effect of having consumed just a tiny bit too much cold medicine earlier? Maybe even a fever dream, since he hadn’t exactly bothered to check his temperature before heading out.

In any case, Allen fired off a quick salute at the helicopter and took his leave. He would probably be hearing about this in the morning though, if not before that. But the fact that the searchlights didn’t follow him meant that he was probably in the clear, at least for now. And if someone had the gall to claim that he had been involved in whatever crime had just unfolded, then Allen had Timcanpy’s recordings to back him up, which was reassuring.

Honestly though, Allen had had enough. He hadn’t managed to fill his quota, but he honestly felt like shit. Maybe he really had hallucinated the whole encounter? Or at the very least, that last−

“So, about that autograph…”

Allen didn’t scream, but it was a close thing. He definitely startled though, but that was a pretty natural thing, considering the fact that the other had literally just stepped out of a solid brick wall in the alleyway Allen had slinked into after returning to the Third District. That had to be the guy’s ability; some type of matter manipulation.

Fortunately, the guy didn’t seem interested in duking it out, which was a great thing, because Allen honestly wasn’t all too sure about how to fight someone with the seeming ability to break the laws of physics.

But the fact that the guy had followed him all this way did mean that the guy could be pretty damned persistent, and would likely keep bugging Allen until he got what he wanted. So−

Allen pulled out his magic marker.

“So,” he said, purely business. “Just a signature or a dedication of some sort?”

* * *

C2 had fans – some of them casual, some of them kind and far too many of them fanatic. C2 also had critics and colleagues and casual acquaintances – some of them more agreeable than others.

This one though, this one was different.

“Yo, long time no see, Boy. Got you a present.”

It hadn’t been that long, really. Sure, Allen had been on forced sick leave and basically on house arrest for about a week and a half, with his neighbour Lavi – otherwise known as Iron Hammer – regularly checking in and bringing peace offerings in the shape of food in a mostly futile effort to placate him for the role he had played in bringing about said sick leave.

Now that guy was stuck in bed himself, which served him right, to be perfectly honest. Allen would rather the guy recovered relatively quickly though, because having a high fever made Lavi even more chatty than usual. If it occasionally seemed as though the guy’s brain-to-mouth filter was malfunctioning, it was completely gone now.

Allen had left Timcanpy to supervise him though, for the few hours he would be out tonight. And he wouldn’t be working either – not as a hero at any rate.

And speaking of heroes−

Allen found himself staring down at a slip of paper carrying his hero signature. Then he looked up at the guy, Mikk, and uttered a single word. “Why?”

“Well,” Mikk said. “I _was_ considering seeing just how much I’d get for it if I put it up in an online auction, but then I remembered you were a fan, so…”

Allen picked up the piece of paper, almost reverently. “I could sell this online,” he said.

Under an anonymous account of course, one that couldn’t be easily traced back to him. No, maybe he should go for about a handful of accounts selling one signature each? C2 only rarely gave out autographs after all. But he obviously couldn’t do too many, because that'd look suspicious, and then there’d be the risk of inflation and−

“Hoh,” Tyki said. “I get you the signature of your idol, and your first thought is to sell it to the highest bidder? You sure love money, don’t you?”

Allen scoffed, putting the card back down and pushing it away. Because he could easily make new ones, without indebting himself to this guy. “Yeah, I do. Problem?”

The rest of the regulars arrived, sparing Allen from continuing the conversation.

Well, not that it really mattered or anything. _“Call!”_

* * *

“Hey, wait.”

Allen wasn’t really inclined to do so, because he had his pockets full of cash and wanted to bring it home to his dwindling stash. But he did stop, turning his head around to side-eye the guy. Because it felt appropriate, all things considered. “What?”

“Look,” the guy said. “There’s nothing wrong with liking money. Just wanted to make that clear.”

Allen honestly couldn’t care less, and he had no particular reason to make it known either. Still− “Believe whatever you want.”

“Hey, that’s not what I−” He sighed. “Look, okay, I get the feeling that I’ve severely offended you or something, and those other guys are starting to give me these looks, so… I know a pretty good 24-hour restaurant pretty close by, so if you wouldn’t mind−”

Allen honestly wouldn’t mind free food, even if he did have certain reservations in regards to the company. Unfortunately, Allen sort of already had prior commitments; it was high time to get back to check on the sickling.

“I do love free food about as much as I love money,” Allen said. “But right now, I’m busy.”

“You don’t look very busy.”

Really. “What about you then? Don’t you have places to be… people to bother… banks to rob, perhaps?”

In hindsight, probably not the smartest thing he could have said at that exact moment.

“Hoh?” the man said, surprise quickly replaced by intrigue.

* * *

And somehow, that little exchange had ultimately resulted in this random home invasion that doubled as a welfare check.

And Allen supposed that he should consider the fact that the villain apparently knew where he lived alarming. Still− “Couldn’t you have texted me or something? You know, like a normal person?”

“I don’t have your number.”

Okay, fair point. Still− “I have an account on social media.” – That he basically never updated or checked, but still. – “But fine, whatever. Give me your phone.”

The villain handed it over, and Allen entered the number of his burner phone into it.

“There. My number. Happy?”

“Very.”

“Good for you,” Allen said, giving Timcanpy a reassuring pet since he felt the golem’s claws dig into his head, which wasn’t helping his headache in the least. “Now get out. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

* * *

And that proved the start of a beautiful friendship – except it really didn’t, but it did prove that misery loves company.

As it turned out, the villain – whose name was allegedly Tyki Mikk – had plenty of grievances.

Also, it turned out that villainy ran in the family, which largely confirmed Allen’s already existing prejudices about rich people. And that they were a crazy lot, but Allen already knew that.

Allen didn’t have quite as many details to share, but he did have a few things to set straight.

“Wait.” Tyki blinked. “Seriously? You’re not getting paid for the merch?”

“Nope,” Allen responded, helping himself to another slice of pizza. “The producers pocket about ten percent, and the Agency takes about twenty. The rest goes to the city’s reconstruction fund to pay for structural damages.”

…Courtesy of certain past and present – and likely also future – heroes and their habit of causing serious property damage.

“What about pay in general though?” Tyki asked. “You’ve got some sort of quota system, right?”

Allen provided a basic rundown of the system and the rates, and the villain just kind of sat there, humming thoughtfully as he sipped his drink.

“Honestly though, Boy, I don’t get it,” the villain said at last. “Working under those conditions, why would anyone want to be a hero? I mean, sure, you get some benefits and all, but still…”

“There’s a thing like having a calling, Tyki,” Allen said, taking a sip out of his own drink. “And a compulsion to save people. I’ve been called out on my ‘hero complex’ in the past…”

“Really?” Tyki hummed. “Well, I suppose… I mean, as a villain, I’m not about to point fingers. I think that heroes as a whole are admirable, if a bit stupid.”

Really. “I think that you of all people shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses,” Allen scoffed. “You didn’t even know the different between interest and amortization.”

“See, there’s another thing I don’t really get,” Tyki said, putting his glass down. “You’ve got your hero gig at least three nights per week and three or four part-time jobs on different days, and on top of that, you almost always show up for Game Night. And you’re also in high-school, right? When the Hell do you actually sleep?”

Well− “It’s actually three regular part-time jobs and a few sporadic ones. I used to have more, but I had to drop a few. Also, yeah, school? Finally got old enough to drop out, so…”

“Wait.” The villain seemed taken aback. “You dropped out of school?”

“Yep.” Allen bit into another slice of pizza. “People kept telling me I needed to free up more time in my schedule, so…”

“Education is important though,” Tyki argued.

“So is making money,” Allen snorted. “It’s not like I can pay for housing and groceries with good grades or anything. Besides, I was gonna fail the exams anyhow, so I figured I might as well leave with some dignity still intact.”

This earned him a definite look, but Allen opted to ignore it. He was after all more or less aware of Tyki’s opinions on this matter, and he was even more aware of Branch Chief Komui’s views, having been summoned directly to the man’s office. The man had made a clear and quite earnest effort in convincing him to change his mind. Funnily enough, the man had used the exact same argument as Tyki, and Allen had given the exact same answer. The reactions had obviously differed though; Komui had looked pained and guilty, whereas Tyki simply levelled him with a mildly exasperated look on top of his glass.

“Well, that’s one way of seeing it,” Tyki sighed. “But you know, it’s still a good thing to have a diploma. It’s hard to get a decent job without at least that much.”

Allen snorted at that, but more out of amusement than exasperation. “Really? That’s your argument? I’ve managed fine without one so far and I’ll probably manage fine without one in the future as well. The thing that nets you good jobs isn’t having good papers or even good references or even luck – it’s about having the right connections.”

“Well, guess I can’t really disagree with that,” Tyki said. “Just out of curiosity though, what kind of jobs could you get with your current connections?”

Well, that was a question, and a pretty decent one as well. Like, Allen had no real intention of dropping his hero work, but if the Agency found out about some of his recent activities, things might not work out all that well, so there wasn’t anything wrong with having a Plan B, just in case. “Accountant and lab assistant, I guess?”

And partner-in-crime, counting the offer from Phantom Thief G, which was something of an upgrade; the initial offer had been for the position of sidekick.

“Hoh? You’re good with money? Then why do you struggle so much with balancing your budget?”

Ah, Allen could have punched him for that. Instead, he raised his hand, giving a slight wave to attract the attention of one of the servers. They were seated in a booth that was largely shielded from prying eyes and also far away enough not to be easily overheard with the music playing in the background. Thus, the easiest way to signal a server was not to shout but to wave. The personnel were paying attention to them after all, even if they were careful not to intrude.

The guy who had taken their previous order quickly reappeared, notepad and pen in hand. “May I take your order?”

Allen smiled, and wasting no time, he rattled off a fairly extensive list of food. It took a long moment for the server as well as Tyki to process it. Then the server asked, somewhat hesitantly and almost as if to reassure himself: “As takeaway?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. Also−” Allen fired off an even brighter smile and then pointed to Tyki. “−this guy’s footing the bill.”

The server bowed and swept off in direction of the kitchen, but not without sneaking a pitying glance in Tyki’s direction. The villain barely seemed to notice though.

“You know,” Tyki eventually said, rather quietly. “You should reconsider your career choice. I had my doubts before, but you’d make an excellent villain.”

Allen scoffed. “As if. Vigilante, sure. Antihero, I guess. Villain, no.”

There was an amused snort at that. “Shame,” Tyki said, pulling out his wallet. “We even offer free dental.”

“You should consider switching it up to free counselling,” Allen said, trying not to look too hard at the wad of notes in said wallet. “No, make that mandatory counselling.”

He should probably consider going to counselling himself, given just how tempted he was by the sight of all that money. Thankfully, Tyki spoke up just in time to distract him.

“See, there’s the problem,” the villain said. “Where on earth would anyone find a counsellor willing to put up with that?”

That sounded like a strictly rhetorical question, but Allen opted to respond to it nonetheless. “You’d be surprised by what some people might put up with, given enough incentive.”

* * *

And by incentive, Allen didn’t necessarily mean money. People did all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons; money, fame, compassion, spite…

Also, by people being willing to put up with certain things given enough incentive, Allen had not been referring to himself – not this time at least. Unfortunately, he had not quite managed to clarify this in time.

“Tyki,” he said, turning around to face the man. “What. In the actual. Fuck?”

The man had the audacity to shrug. “I told you, and you didn’t believe me. So, here we are.”

And by here, he meant inside the mansion of the bloody Prime Minister, and more specifically, inside what had to be the scariest room Allen had seen up until that point. And that was saying a lot, because he had seen some pretty fucked up things up both back in the day and in more recent years. Still−

Was that a life-sized effigy? Oh God, it was.

And beyond it, there was an array of hero merch that would have been called impressive if it wasn’t so damned poignant. And it was all centred around him, of course; a shrine dedicated to C2 and C2 alone, and at the very centre was a note that Allen recognised without getting close enough to read it. He had vaguely wondered where that dedication Tyki had asked him to write had ended up, and it would suffice to say that he was not wondering anymore.

In hindsight, Allen should have been able to puzzle this together beforehand. _Road_ was not a particularly common name after all, and the internet had an abundance of information – more or less reliable – if one only cared to look, which Allen obviously hadn’t.

Releasing a slow, controlled breath, Allen said the first thing that came to mind. _“Jesus Fucking Christ.”_

Not that he was particularly religious or anything. But, in this particular situation, he could find few other expressions that quite managed to capture the particular emotional nuance he wanted to convey. And he likely managed it too, because Tyki nodded solemnly in understanding.

Allen breathed in and then out; it should have been enough oxygen, but it felt like too little and too much all at once. “I need some air,” he concluded, but in a tone which implied that what he in fact needed was not air but immediate transportation to an uninhabited island off of the coast of New Zealand.

And that could probably be arranged, because as Allen had come to discover very, very recently, the villains apparently had access to something known as the Noah’s Ark, which could open up Gates – a sort of portals or wormholes – just about anywhere they liked.

And that explained a thing or two, not just about Akuma’s strange tendency of just showing up out of nowhere when Allen should have sensed them long before being close enough to engage them.

It explained so much – so, so much – but not one thing, namely why the villains had yet to use the thing to wreak true havoc. After all, from Tyki’s rants, Allen had been able to discern that there were in fact a fair number of people who belonged to the same organisation, if it could be called that – The Noah Family. But no, these people just didn’t seem to be taking this villainy thing very seriously – Tyki had almost given off the impression that he did it because it was expected and because he had nothing better to do.

Then again, according to Tyki himself, he was a bit of a black sheep in the family, so it was unlikely that the rest would be the same. However, from what Allen had heard and seen up until this point, a fair number of them seemed largely occupied with… well, just about anything, really.

What was the end goal of this operation? To create more Akuma and set them loose and then what? To give family members free rein to do basically whatever, provided they could account for a certain quota of dastardly deeds on a monthly basis? What?

Hell, one of them – Tyki’s actual brother – was the bloody Prime Minister, which to be fair explained quite a few things about changes to certain policies in recent years.

And absolutely no one – save for the usual conspiracy nuts – would ever believe this, even if Allen leaked obvious evidence of the fact.

In any case, the situation was a mess, and Allen was in a place where he really shouldn’t be – maybe not the enemy headquarters, but at the very least one of its secret clubhouses.

The only saving grace of the whole situation was the fact that Tyki swore up and down that Sheril Kamelot and his darling Road Kamelot would be out doing father-daughter bonding until dinnertime, and that no other family members of the villain variety had any business coming to the mansion at this time of day.

But, as was often the case with life, changes of plans were made, and without prior notification at that.

Thus, Allen was still there with Tyki when Tyki’s villainous politician of a brother and his C2-obsessed darling Road had returned from what appeared to have been a _very_ expensive trip to a certain merch store.

Naturally, fight or flight instincts had kicked in. However, he had been seriously outnumbered and also technically there as a civilian, so vaulting out the nearest window had not exactly been feasible. It was the third floor and all, but Allen would absolutely have done it; he had absolutely been aiming for that when a voice telling him to stop had literally stopped him in his tracks.

So, the Prime Minister wasn’t just a villain but a super-powered one – Go figure, all things considered.

“So,” said Prime Minister Sheril Kamelot, staring at Allen as though he was something particularly unsightly scraped off of his shoe. “Who are you and why have you trespassed into my humble abode?”

There was literally nothing humble about the abode in question, and what was that about trespassing? Actually, looking at the guy up close, he had a very punch-able face; it was almost as though it was begging for someone to put a fist in it.

Unfortunately, Allen’s right arm was currently unusable – thanks a lot, Road Kamelot – and his left? Well, technically an option, because the guy was a villain after all. But it would likely be considered bad form to attack someone outside of costume, and Allen would rather leave this room and purportedly humble abode alive and preferably in one piece, and as such−

He brought his left arm up to his face and tipped his head slightly forward, curling slightly into himself as he released a shuddering breath. It had been a while since he had done something similar, but Allen obviously knew that he had to sell it if he wanted to make it of this alive. Allen wished he could have counted on Tyki to get him out, but since the guy hadn’t even managed to act as a proper decoy, that left Allen with no choice but to rely on this.

Saying nothing, he lowered his arm slowly to reveal eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. That was all.

He lifted his tearful gaze slowly, briefly locking eyes with Sheril Kamelot. The villain looked perturbed; his earlier killing intent rapidly dispersed, spiralling into frustrated confusion. But that was good enough. Road’s grip on his arm also loosened, and that was as good an opportunity as any.

Before the pair – and Tyki – had time to recover from their stupor, Allen was already running. Before he knew it, he had gravel under his feet, and wasn’t that a thrill? But he kept up his pace nonetheless, because he had no idea about the range of Sheril Kamelot’s abilities and no intention to stick around and find out. Besides that, there was Road, so−

Allen ran without looking back.

* * *

Over time, Allen had done plenty of things he wasn’t exactly proud of, many of them fairly early on in his career – some of them before he even had a career to speak of, in fact.

One of them was that time when he had agreed to be part of the staff at some masquerade-themed charity gala thing. There, he had taken out one aspiring hostage-taker/kidnapper/robber with a makeshift frisbee and another with a dropkick. _Then_ , and only then, he had been told they were in fact just invited guests getting too deeply into character. Because like, excuse you, when people barged in through a side door, yelling death threats, waving guns around and looking rather deranged in general, it was perfectly reasonable to assume the worst and act quickly to put an end to it before they had finished their deranged spiel. And this was where his mostly empty metal tray had entered the picture.

Anyways, Allen had done a whole bunch of things that he wasn’t especially proud of – in and outside of costume. Some of it had been borderline illegal. Other things had definitely been illegal.

This however? Uh…

Allen had been minding his own damned business, walking down the street like a normal person one minute, and in the next, he had found himself sitting on a couch that was most definitely not his own, and seated his opposite was none other than−

“Sign here,” said Sheril Kamelot, pushing a piece of paper towards him.

Allen blinked in confusion and then he looked down at the paper, noticing the headline. It did nothing to alleviate his confusion however.

“Sign. Here,” said Sheril Kamelot, with additional force now.

Allen found himself reaching for the pen, but right before he grabbed it, he somehow managed to override the command. It took a definite amount of energy though, and as he snapped out of it, that energy was redirected into the physical realm.

The table flipped, sending cups of tea and a tray of biscuits flying, and Allen was out of there before they had even hit the floor.

* * *

When Allen finally recounted the event to Tyki, the man had looked appropriately disturbed and sympathetic. But you know, this was mostly Tyki’s damned fault, because if the guy hadn’t brought Allen into that mansion that time, then none of this would ever have happened.

But Allen really didn’t have anyone else to vent to, which was why he was willing to talk with Tyki again after weeks of giving him the cold shoulder. And Tyki had understood to keep his distance and not ask questions – up until now, that is.

“So…” Tyki said eventually, staring at nothing in particular. “When did you meet Road? She knew your name – like your actual name, not your alias.”

Allen sighed, massaging his aching head; his headaches had been getting worse as of late – due to all the stress, most likely. “I don’t remember much. It was a pretty bad concussion.”

“Hoh?”

Yeah, and as a matter of fact, Allen would rather not remember any more than he already did. Some things were better off forgotten after all.

“Never mind all that,” Allen said. “When will this stop?”

The pitying glance directed his way told him way more than he actually cared to know.

* * *

“Whoa, there’s even vegetables in here… and most of them are fresh…”

Allen scoffed, ignoring the intruder snooping around in his fridge in favour of his glass of water. For once, it wasn’t even Tyki doing the snooping. Instead, it was Allen’s well-meaning neighbour Lavi Bookman, which obviously begged the question as to why the guy was even here, in Allen’s kitchen, at… noon, apparently. With the blackout curtains, it was somewhat hard to tell the time of day, and Allen honestly hadn’t been outside for at least two days, maybe even longer.

In any case− “It’s way too early for this,” Allen announced, heading back to bed.

Unfortunately, the nuisance in the kitchen decided to follow. Allen briefly contemplated sicking Timcanpy on him, or throwing a pillow, but ultimately opted to just hide beneath the covers instead.

“So…” Lavi said. “Is this a bad time?”

Allen really didn’t see the need to dignify that with a response.

“Okay, so a pretty bad time,” Lavi deduced. “But you know I wouldn’t just come here without good reason, right?”

That was technically true, even though the guy in question had always had a fairly broad definition of what constituted a good reason. Nevertheless− “What do you want?”

“Well…” Lavi said, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. It turned out to be something of a waste of time though, because the words suddenly came rushing out in the next. “I leave town for two weeks and then I get back to the Agency getting sued for reckless endangerment of a minor _and_ for full custody of you, so… got anything to share on that? Chief kind of wants to know, but he’s tied up dealing with this mess, and he said that he wants you to know that he doesn’t blame you or in any way think that you’re the culprit. As for Central… yeah, let’s just say that they’re not happy. They’ll probably show up to try to interrogate you soon, so Komui’s told me not to let you out of sight. Anyways, give me something to work with here. I might be able to help you.”

Hah.

Allen struggled to hold himself back from bursting out into mildly hysterical laughter. “I appreciate the offer and all, but I’m afraid it’s already too late for me,” he said. “Tyki says his family won’t stop until I've agreed to be assimilated into their flock. Or to attend their triannual family reunion – whichever comes first.”

“Tyki?”

“You know, the villainous stalker that keeps trying to lure me over to the dark side with free meals and promises of free dental. That Tyki.”

“Uh…”

Ah, damn. “I just said all that out loud, didn’t I?”

The pause that followed was very telling.

* * *

To his credit, Lavi didn’t throw a fit. He had had a mild freak-out, sure, but not an outright fit.

“So…” he commented after a while. “A triannual family reunion, huh?”

Well, that was what Tyki had called it, at least. But he had also alluded to meetups in-between that, meetups that he generally avoided for the sake of his own sanity. And Allen understood, he really did. He had not met all the members of Tyki’s ‘family’, whether in costume or outside of it, but even with his own limited exposure, he understood.

“Really though…” Lavi said. “Allen, what the fuck? I leave town for a bit, and suddenly villains are suing the Agency for custody and child endangerment? What did you do?”

Yeah, that was an excellent question… that Allen would rather not answer. Because he’d panicked, pulled the miserable puppy-eyed look as a distraction, and it had succeeded – to a certain degree – but also failed in new, unexpected and obviously unintended ways.

Because one thing had led to another, and now Tyki’s evil politician of a brother was out for blood, and for acquiring new blood, judging by the paperwork. But was this another ploy to sabotage the hero side and score more villain brownie points from the villainous overlord, the Millennium Earl? Or was it a desperate attempt to sabotage Road’s alleged plan to marry Allen in the future?

Damn, that night back then; as much as Allen wanted to forget it had ever happened, he honestly could not help but be frustrated by not being able to determine what was true and what was not in regards to what had taken place on the night in question.

In any case−

Allen opened his mouth to speak, but Lavi beat him to it.

“So… when do I get to meet this Tyki guy?”

 _What?_ “No.”

Lavi’s grin, so bright and friendly for the most part, had a decidedly sharp and almost hungry edge to it. _“When?”_

* * *


End file.
